We chase the turnings of a maze confused,
Drawn on by hope, pursued by history.
By fortune we are soothed, by sorrows bruised,
We stumble on, purblind, toward mystery.
Yet Time hies round thee, hushed, on unshod feet,
Lest hearing, thou should wake to Her, and rise
To seek the point where past and future meet.
Though choice seems chance, though happenstance belies
Intent, learn thou that fate is in thy hands.
Discern the joint that shatters Time, that bends
Her flow, Her heedless whim, to thy commands.
Thus heal the wound; thus make all good amends.Hast thou a chance to choose it all again,Then take the path that leads to Otherwhen.